This Child Is My
by Aiselne Phoenix Nocturnus
Summary: The Shinigami Dispatch Association thought Grell had received ample sentencing for his crimes as Jack the Ripper. But only Ronald saw the true extent of the redhead's punishment. One-Shot.


_**This Child Is My**_

**SUMMARY**: The Shinigami Dispatch Association thought Grell had received ample sentencing for his crimes as Jack the Ripper. But only Ronald saw the true extent of the redhead's punishment.

**GENRE**: Drama/Hurt/Comfort  
**RATED**: PG-13 / T  
**NOTABLE CONTENT**: Brief Bloody Violence, Language, Alcohol Usage, & Mature/Sexual Themes

**COPYRIGHT NOTE**: I don't own _Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler  
_**STORY TAKES PLACE IN**: Post-Jack the Ripper arc

**COMMENTS**: My longest Kuroshitsuji one-shot to date, but I couldn't help the length. Grell and Ronald's relationship has become a major highlight for me, especially when it comes to Grell's sisterly/maternal instincts. I do hope this fanfic's punch line makes a little sense to readers, and if not, just understand that this story is just one of the many ways I interpret Grell and Ronald's bond. Enjoy!

* * *

**This Child Is My  
**_Aiselne P.N._

"_London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady."_

Angelina's slender arms descended, scooping the young child caught underneath London Bridge when it fell down. The small boy giggled merrily, nestling his head of dark hair against his aunt's full, warm bosom. Their smiles were brighter than the afternoon sun.

Even after their game ended An continued to hum the _London Bridge_ song, carrying little Ciel in her arms as he was lulled to sleep. Her red-painted lips planted a gentle kiss atop the cherubic boy's forehead. Dear, sweet little Ciel; how Angelina loved him so. How he was the highlight of her otherwise dark and miserable life. How he filled her broken heart with so much happiness.

Indeed, she was happy…happier than Angelina Durless had ever been in her lifetime. Indeed, she was in heaven.

She continued to maternally rock Ciel in her arms. A calm breeze brushed through her short carmine hair, tickling her cheeks as she turned around whence the wind came. A handful of rose petals danced in the ethereal breeze, matching the colour of her peaceful smile.

Holding the child forever close to her heart, Angelina's final words were:

"This child is my…"

Then her face blanched, her ruby eyes whitened, and her once-smiling lips vomited a burst of choked blood. Scattered rose petals liquefied into gory raindrops that pooled around Angelina's shoes. Inexplicably the child held to her chest disappeared, replaced with the cold, merciless steel of a revolving chainsaw blade. _London Bridge_'s melody was lost to the noise of the death scythe's revving engine as its edge sliced wet flesh. This time, the chainsaw did not stop at Madam Red's chest, and it was not long before her dismembered limbs flew as far as the eye could see. Fountains of beautiful blood poured all around, saturating the furious grim reaper redder than he already was.

Of what remained of the dead woman's body, Grell completed his massacre by impaling her barren abdomen, using his blade to nail An directly into the gore-splattered earth. As though the sawblades did not do enough damage, the shinigami leaned into the carcass, applying weight to his weapon, but most importantly to meet Madam Red face-to-face. Her blood dripped plenty from Grell's soaked bangs.

The death god snarled like a shark-toothed predator. "You weak, _stupid_ woman!" blasted Grell over the racket of his scythe, not caring that his chainsaw continued to run his former mistress into the ground. Not caring if she ever heard. He was too mad in every sense of the word. "How dare you! How _dare_ you do this to me! After everything I did for you! _You_—a sodding _human_! Where do you get the gall to betray a god?! Where—"

Grell got his answer the moment Madam Red's eyes suddenly met his. Even the death god was stunned, though no more so than when Grell's lady told him precisely where she got her nerve.

In spite of everything, Angelina's bloodied lips smiled maternally. "C-Ciel…is still…my—"

The whites of Grell's eyes matched his bared teeth as he screamed over the roar of his death scythe decapitating the one woman he thought understood him. What a horrid mistake; Madam Red was no different than all those other prostitutes slain by Jack the Ripper. So why should Grell not punish her in the same way he punished those whores?

Large drops of sweat and blood flew from Grell's face, hair, and clothes as he maniacally swung his chainsaw. "No! No, damn you! _NO_! That brat is not yours! He's nothing! You have nothing, Madam! NOTHING!" The shinigami shrieked until he was certain his own throat began to bleed.

His and his chainsaw's seemingly endless energy eventually exhausted. Still on his knees, Grell once again embedded his blade vertically into the wet land, desperately clinging to the hot engine as his only means of propping himself upright. He panted and cursed, barely appreciating the macabre work of art he made out of Madam Red. For once in his life, Grell was not the least bit interested in admiring his handiwork.

Especially when he saw An's ghost in the corner of his eye.

The moment resembled when Jack the Ripper first met, except the duo's roles were reversed. This time Grell was the one on his knees, hovered over a corpse, blood-covered and looking up from the gruesome mess he made. His eyes widened upon seeing the stunning, red-dressed creature who appeared before him. And Madam Red was beautiful, more ravishing than Grell recalled.

And she was smiling. Her life—her _torment_—was over. She was at peace in her own little heaven, where she, Rachel, and Vincent could always play _London Bridge is Falling Down_ with her darling nephew's memory. Because it no longer mattered if Ciel was An's baby. The happiness Ciel brought to Angelina's life was so invaluable that it could never be callously called "nothing." She always had someone precious in her life.

There was a time when Grell foolishly thought that _he_ was someone precious in his madam's life, but no more. Perhaps never. In the end, Angelina Durless always had a child to love. But Grell…

Grell Sutcliff was the one left with nothing.

* * *

Several sharp knocks on the door jolted Grell from his restless dreams. The shinigami bolted upright on his bed, almost diving forward enough to put his head between his knees. A few deep, gasping breaths helped him return to reality, not to mention the incessant rapping at his front door.

His vanity's clock read nine-fifteen at night. Grell could not decide which was the greater shock: someone bothering him at this hour, or him actually falling asleep at this hour. The night was rather young, after all. Like any girl, Grell needed his beauty sleep, but even he rarely hit the sack before eleven. Especially when there was nobody else to share the bed.

The redhead groaned as his unexpected visitor continued knocking, akin to knocking on Death's door since Grell was in absolutely no mood for company. He hated nightmares, especially _reoccurring_ ones.

Grell hissed viciously. One hand rubbed his sore temple through disheveled red hair, whilst his other hand blindly searched for his glasses. _How many Goddamned times must I kill her before I can get one full night's sleep?!_ Grell's sleeping patterns had been turned upside down ever since getting suspended for his crimes as Jack the Ripper. And now, having someone rap on his door did not help matters whatsoever.

Whoever visited seemed in no hurry to leave. Finding and putting on his spectacles, Grell rolled his eyes before dragging himself out of bed. The wine-coloured sheets were everywhere: some on the bed, some on the floor, and some halfway between both. One of his three silk pillows was missing, eventually found next to the vanity where a bottle of perfume had been knocked over.

_Damn_, he cussed. Of all the umpteen toiletries Grell possessed, he just had to accidentally chuck a pillow at his favourite perfume bottle during his nightmare's stupor! The scent was not cheap, either, and now it was reduced to nothing more than a sweet-smelling puddle on Grell's carpet. _Damn it all!_

His bare feet were careful to avoid the broken bottle's shards as Grell exited his unlit bedroom, shutting the door behind him as he entered the parlour. By comparison, the rest of Grell's flat was much more presentable than his ransacked bedroom. He kept things neat: elegant, fashionable, yet somewhat humble in design, with his precious red adorning almost every piece of furniture. The room was not for lack of crimson flowers and vases, either; roses mostly, but some salvia, tulips, and…

Without thinking twice, Grell grabbed the one lonely vase that held a bouquet of spider lilies. He passed a wastebasket on his way to the front door, heartlessly dumping all liquids, contents, even the container itself, into the trash. The lilies had died weeks ago, anyway.

His hands freed, Grell smoothed his hair and made himself presentable, though he was too irked to give much of a damn for whoever was bothering him at the moment. He had nodded off before removing his makeup, and it was a fifty-fifty gamble how his makeup faired after the harrowing nightmare, but Grell doubted he looked too terrible. Any other time Grell Sutcliff would not dare be seen in public without sprucing up himself, but tonight…hell, he was tired, he was irritable, and he was in his own bloody home, too! Let him do what he wanted! Though it did scarcely occur to him that a handsome face _might_ be waiting for him on the other side of the door…

Fortunately, the visitor was only Ronald, who was plenty handsome for his age, just not old enough to be one of Grell's targets. And at the moment, Grell was in no condition to see one of his heartthrobs, so the blond boy's appearance was quite a relief.

"Ronnie?" Grell's green eyes blinked in surprise as he fully opened his front door for the lad. Partially leaning against the threshold, the older reaper placed one hand on his hip. None too amicably, Grell inquired, "What are you doing here?"

The smaller man knew he was overstepping his boundaries. Not that Ronald was unwelcomed in Grell's home (the redhead insisted upon it), but tonight of all nights was poor timing on Ron's behalf.

"I, uh…" stammered Ronald, inexplicably keeping poor eye-contact with Grell, much to the redhead's suspicion. "I just wanted to…check on ya, Miss Sutcliff. Finally bein' released from the detention ward, well…I figured you might like a 'welcome home' visit…"

The less cranky side of Grell wanted to throw his arms around the dear, considerate boy. Ex-Jack the Ripper had spent most of the month in the shinigami realm's penitentiary. Unlike human gaols full of rusty barred windows and rats running amuck, reaper prisons (like gods' technology) were more sophisticated. Grell spent the last twenty-five days in solitary confinement; a plain, lifeless white room, sitting on a cot, where the most excitement happened thrice a day when a tray of bland-tasting food was slid under his door. The monotony alone would have driven Grell insane if he was not already. After serving his time, Grell was thrilled to return to his red-embellished home. Seeing a familiar, friendly face was icing on the cake.

However, the nightmare-irrationalized side of Grell quickly lost his patience. Ronald seemed sincere, but why in heaven's name did his green eyes keep darting up and down like that?! There was even a faint tinge of blush across the junior reaper's nose! And if there was one thing Grell could not stand it was a man who stared and gawked…especially when the lady being gawked at was not in the top of her form.

Folding his arms over his chest, Grell barked, "Ronald, what the hell are you staring at?"

The young death god knew he was treading thin ice, but bravely pointed a finger directly at Grell. "Uhm…is that a trick question, senior?"

Grell blinked again, none too pleased to be gawked at _and_ pointed at. _Where_ were Ronald's manners?! But before the red-haired shinigami could begin lecturing, Grell took a closer look at his appearance. Perhaps Grell _should_ have tidied himself a bit better before answering the door whilst wearing nothing but a button-down shirt and panties. Nothing excessively objectionable was showing; the shirt was long enough to reveal only a peek of Grell's red underwear, and _most_ of the shirt's buttons were fastened together, exposing only small slivers of his chest and flat stomach. His long, luscious legs were on full display, though. Granted, it was more skin than Ronald was accustomed to seeing of his mentor…but for crying out loud! It was not as though Grell answered the door nude!

Sighing in exasperation, Grell shook his head. "Oh please, Ronald! This is my home and I'll dress however I like. Need I remind that _you_ popped in without notice, no less? Gods! You're as bad as Will; a little skin and you think it's the end of the world!"

Just the opposite, Ron was a firm believer that a lady could never show too much skin—if she were an _actual_ lady that is. He greatly respected Miss Sutcliff for who she was, but nothing changed the fact of Grell being a man. But while Grell's body featured all the male necessities, Ron was ultimately amazed at how Grell still looked remarkably womanly, and Ronald Knox knew his ladies. Even from a heterosexual's perspective, Grell Sutcliff was gorgeous.

Unsure how to interpret such mixed signals, Ronald swallowed before finding his voice. "S-sorry, senior. I didn't mean to offend ya." He had nothing but the best intentions when visiting Grell, so he might as well prove it. Smiling brightly, the boy chuckled slyly, "But you've said it yourself: men can't help but stop and admire a drop-dead beautiful lady."

The compliment easily changed Grell's tune. His blushing cheeks matched his hair, coercing an extra giggle from the amused Ronald. But Ron's icebreaker did the trick, and it was impossible for Grell not to smirk back.

"Oh now you're just being a kiss-arse," the senior teased, his hand ruffling Ron's hair before inviting the rookie into his apartment. Grell wanted to say a more sincere "thank you," but opted for a cheekier retort. "Buuut I suppose the kisser can't be put to blame when the arse in question is so irresistible~!" Grell lifted the back hem of his shirt long enough for Ronald to catch a split-second flash of his senior's red-laced derrière. The boy's flabbergasted reaction did not disappoint.

Having already visited Grell's flat in the past, Ronald knew his way around and (all too hurriedly) headed straight for the kitchenette. Whilst the junior rummaged around for something to drink, Grell slinked back into his room to grab a random pair of trousers. It was anyone's guess who felt more flustered; Ron seeing his half-dressed senior, or Grell receiving such an unexpectedly adorable compliment. Either way, it would not kill Grell to slip into his black slacks. He finished buttoning his un-tucked shirt on the walk back into the parlour for a good measure. By then Ronald had poured two glasses of wine and plopped himself on the plush sopha.

"To your health, and freedom, Miss Sutcliff!" Ronald happily toasted, handing the extra glass to his senior. "Dispatch hasn't been the same without ya!"

"I can imagine~" Grell grinned as he sat down, accepting the toast and clicking glasses with Ron. The redhead was not nearly as much of a lush as his subordinate, but Grell and Ronald still found time to share drinks every now and then, be it at their flats or at the local pub. Whenever Ronald was not off partying, and whenever Grell was not stuck with overtime, the duo made a point of inviting the other out for a pint. Their nights out were not spent as "senior and junior," either, but simply as mates.

Leaning back in his seat, Grell crossed his legs and held his glass on one knee. In an oh-so-innocently ladylike voice, Grell asked, "Sooo…speaking of the office, dare I ask if William got the stick out of his arse yet?"

Ronald had been sipping his wine when Grell inquired, causing the lad to snort into his drink. It was to be expected that Grell would want an update about his William, but Ronald never expected Grell's means of questioning to be so angelically crude.

After clearing his throat, Ron playfully admonished his companion. "Now, now, senior. Mister Spears _did_ defend ya in court, remember?"

True, but that was only because William knew his already-understaffed Dispatch could not afford to lose another employee, especially one as experienced as Grell. For all of the redhead's shenanigans he _was_ unrivaled with a death scythe and the best member of the soul-collections department. William knew Grell Sutcliff was many things but expendable was not one of them. Therefore, Grell harboured no illusions that Will saved him out of friendship or love, even if the convicted reaper so desperately wished otherwise.

As happy as Grell was to keep his job, William's perpetual lack of compassion stung more than usual. It was nice to know that in his hour of need Grell _could_ rely on Will…but only if helping Grell benefited productivity. When the shinigami court adjourned last month, William immediately returned to work. It never occurred to him that the imprisoned Grell still needed his boss, not for legal matters but for moral support. Visitors were prohibited but Grell was allowed letters, all which came from Ronnie, Eric, and Alan. Will never wrote.

Grell was not stupid. He understood he was being punished for the crimes he committed. He just never expected Will's colder-than-usual apathy to be harder to endure than prison. And after twenty-five days of foolishly wishing for William to randomly bust open Grell's cell and take the redhead into his arms, Grell's mood had evolved from melancholy to plain bitterness. He knew William was furious with Grell; Will had every right to be. But he also knew William had not the foggiest idea how hurt Grell really was.

"It still wouldn't have killed Will to write me one letter," mumbled Grell, enough for Ronald to hear both his words and resentment. But not wanting to ruin his moment with Ronnie any more, the older reaper swapped his demeanour, took a quick swig of his wine, and then huffed sarcastically. "But knowing William, the only letter he'd send me is a damage report or another bill. I suppose I should just be thankful he never sent my resignation papers."

Ronald could not agree more. Shinigami Dispatch flooded with rumours after word spread that Grell Sutcliff had collaborated with a human to kill people not yet on the to-die list. As with all hearsay, exaggerations blew out of proportion with each passing day, and many reapers assumed Grell was guaranteed the death penalty. And as Grell's underling, Ronald desperately tried to decipher the facts from fiction. One particularly wild rumour claimed "Jack the Ripper" was merely a front to a larger revolt of sorts, and that Grell was the ringleader of some kind of asinine war against the gods. Granted, the war rumour did have the theatrical flare that Grell went for, but _seriously_? Even Ron knew his senior was not _that_ starved for melodrama. But no matter how loony a rumour sounded, if Ronald denied it, his colleagues assumed he was only defending his senior.

_Of course_ Ronald defended Grell! The boy was no deserter. Sure, Miss Sutcliff was a tad…odd, to say the least. But Ron owed his entire career to Grell, and he even grew to consider the redhead like an older sister. If able, Ronald would have spoken on Grell's behalf during trial. But little could be done by a novice, clout-less grim reaper like Ronald Knox except to stand on the sidelines and offer Grell as much moral support as possible. Ronald just hoped it was enough.

An awkward silence engulfed Grell's parlour as the reapers sat and drank quietly, which was quite out of their energetic characters. Ronald had yet to mature past his boyish enthusiasm, and Grell was the embodiment of flamboyance. Neither was the quiet type, and neither felt comfortable sitting in silence, either. But at the moment, neither seemed able to muster the courage to make the next move. Jack the Ripper's affair had complicated matters far too severely, shattering comfort zones and raising the inevitable questions: where, how, and _if_ Grell's relationships could move on after the mess he made.

A red, freshly-manicured fingernail delicately traced the circular rim of Grell's wineglass. The only bright side to not receiving visitors in prison was that nobody saw Grell's unkempt appearance. There were no beauty salons in gaol, after all—the best being daily (and supervised) trips to the bath to wash and shave. Grell would die before letting himself go, but there was only so much he could do without the essential cosmetics. Needless to say, upon Grell's release his first order of business was treating himself to an overdue, overindulgent makeover. Only then did life finally feel normal…or Grell's definition of normal.

…Or as normal as life could be after Grell ruined it.

It was the first time, ever, that Grell felt genuinely uncomfortable in Ronald's presence. Ordinarily it was Grell who made the boy feel awkward, no thanks to his senior's outrageousness. The boy was warm, light-hearted, and easy to talk to, popularized and adored by his peers. From the moment Ronnie first introduced himself Grell liked the lad, and their friendship only deepened as they worked closer together. It was nice to have an underling who was actually pleasant to be around, opposed to other brats Grell babysat in the past.

Even better, Ronald was young, modern, and progressive, and that mindset made him far more open to his transgender superior. It took some time for Ron to accustom himself to Grell's ways, naturally—transsexuality was merely a piece of the prima donna, over-energized, red-obsessed, psychotically masochistic puzzle that was Grell Sutcliff—but Ronald did not close his mind or demand a reassignment, unlike a few cases from Grell's past. The boy was the red death god's godsend.

And that was precisely why Grell chewed the inside of his cheek. He cherished Ronnie. Although out of the penitentiary, Grell was still suspended (demoted, no less); he lost his death scythe and office privileges—he did not want to lose Ronald, too! It was anyone's guess whether or not Dispatch management would allow a murderer to continue mentoring prospective rookies. And even if Grell and Ronald were allowed to continue working together, what were _Ronald_'s opinions on the matter? Would Ronald even want to work with Grell anymore? Given the circumstances, management certainly would not deny him a reassignment. Neither would Grell.

"Why are you really here, Ronnie?"

The blond reaper's green eyes blinked, not expecting Grell's choice of words. "What do ya mean, senior?" he asked, leaning forward to place his emptied wineglass on the coffee table. He would have refilled his glass had Grell not given him more pressing matters to think about. "I wanted to welcome ya home is all."

Grell smiled softly. Whatever he did to deserve Ronald Knox he would never know, but Ronnie certainly did not deserve to be saddled to a crazed criminal. "Oh come now," the redhead sighed rather tiredly, arching his head towards the inexperienced shinigami. "I've only had one glass of wine, Ron. I'm not pissed enough yet to overlook the real reason why you stopped by tonight, honey."

Ronald frowned. "And what do you think my 'real reason' is, Miss Sutcliff?"

Grell downed the remainder of his drink, knowing he would need the alcohol in order to speak his next words. The liquid burned down his throat, igniting the scant bravery Grell needed to say, "Look, sweetie, I appreciate the pleasantries, but I don't enjoy being humoured, either. You actually expect me to believe you visited at this hour—prime time for another one of your parties—just so we can sip wine and chitchat as though nothing happened this past month?"

It was Ronald who bit the inside of his mouth this time. He knew the Madam Red incident was unavoidable in their conversation, but Ron hoped the so-called pleasantries might have lasted a tad longer. Truthfully, he enjoyed simply sipping wine and chitchatting with Grell.

After scratching the lower, black-dyed half of his hair, Ronald found his voice. He just hoped he also found the correct words. "…Um, well…the truth is, I really did wanna' check on ya, Miss Sutcliff. Seniors Eric and Alan wanted to, too, but…Alan hasn't been feeling well lately and Eric's by his side. Kinda' inspired me to come to your side, Grell."

For twenty-five long, lonely days, all Grell wanted was for a man to come to his rescue. Ronald was providing the very thing Grell wished from William: comfort. Kindness swelled within the redhead's heart. Ronnie was such a dear. It almost worried Grell that the boy might be easily taken advantage of someday. Guiltily, Grell feared he was doing just that.

"Aren't you upset?" Grell asked barely above a whisper, his voice much too quiet for the vivacious redhead as far as Ronald was concerned. "Aren't you embarrassed? You're not exactly the understudy of Dispatch's employee of the month, you know."

Ronald was aware. He already heard plenty of comments throughout the office. Outsiders gave him looks. Some wondered if he might follow in Grell's homicidal footsteps someday. Others knew better, but still whispered. "There goes Psycho Sutcliff's protégé." "Do you think Knox was aware of Jack the Ripper from the start?" "The poor bloke." "If Knox knows what's good for em' he'll find himself a new senior before Sutcliff gets released." People were cruel but Ronald never heeded them. He equated the Ripper crimes to nasty storms that were bound to blow over eventually.

But Grell was not as willing to burry his head in the sand. Even on trial he never denied what he did. He took his punishment like—pardoning the sexist expression—a man. He already humiliated himself plenty, lowering himself to playing butler to a human, breaking shinigami law, etc. Grell was not about to degrade himself any deeper by begging, crying, or making a pathetic spectacle of himself, even if he relished theatrical drama. He defended himself whenever he could, dissuading the asinine rumours of Jack the Ripper being a larger-scale rebellion against gods and whatnot, but regarding the transgressions of which he _was_ responsible Grell did not waste time pleading not guilty. He stopped playing the role of innocence when Sebastian caught Madam Red's butler covered in Mary Kelly's blood. No longer was there a need to reprise that performance. Such was why Grell refused to pretend with Ronald. He only wished Ron would stop beating around the proverbial bush.

Grell's wish was granted sooner than the red-haired shinigami expected.

"Well, sure, I'm upset," shrugged Ronald, absentmindedly staring at his empty wineglass, afraid of Grell's reaction. "Everyone is, senior. Imagine coming to work one day and learnin' one of the office's best employees hadda' mental breakdown or somethin'. That's what evry'one thought, anyway, and it was pretty crazy the first few days. A lotta' reapers worried that once you got back to the shinigami realm you'd _continue_ your killin' spree. Nobody understood your motives so they figured anyone was fair game to be Jack the Ripper's next victim."

A rude snort erupted from Grell's nostrils. "Pleeease. From the time he retrieved me from the human world to the time we returned here Will was all over me." He snorted again at his choice of words, only wishing William could be all over him in those intimate ways. Just the opposite, "The man beat me senseless, which made _perfect_ sense considering Bassy had already beaten seven shades of shit out of me not ten minutes prior. The next thing I know I wake up inside a shinigami clinic, and not just aaany shinigami clinic, mind you, but the shinigami clinic inside the bloody shinigami penitentiary!" Knowing he needed, and deserved, another drink, Grell poured himself another full glass. "When did my illustrious co-workers expect me to 'continue my killing spree' during all that?"

Ronald did not disagree. Everyone overreacted. "But can ya blame em', senior? Nothin' like this ever happened before. And after all…" he trailed, not sure how to say the next few words without sounding insensitive.

After a gulp of liquor Grell spoke the words for his junior. "After all, yours truly is not known for her psychological stability. Tell me, Ron, for how ever many employees were surprised by my behaviour, how many were _not_? How many assumed it was just a matter of time before 'Psycho Sutcliff' showed her true, blood-red colours, hmm?"

It was a rhetorical question to which Grell and Ronald knew the answer. Ever since his days attending Shinigami Academy Grell made quite a reputation for himself. He used his skills, arrogance, and intimidation as a means of reaching the top and gaining respect. It was not until he met, and was bested by, William that Grell learned being dominated was equally fun as doing the dominating. Not to say Grell "toned down" his personality after graduation, per se. He never learned to curb his bloodlust but Grell did learn to make friends in spite of it.

Indeed, Grell was a nutter, but typically a fun person to be around. Men had a harder time handling the crimson tart, but they still admired the death god's prowess. Ron's ladies in reception had nothing but great things to say about Miss Sutcliff, whom every girl at one time or another sought for beauty tips. Of course, there were a handful of women who detested the redhead; they envied Grell's gorgeousness, and/or they caught Grell seducing someone who just happened to be their boyfriend. But in Grell's defense, how could he be held responsible when the target of his flirtations never claimed to be involved with anyone else? Then, of course, the girlfriend would direct her rage off Grell and onto her ex-boyfriend, and…goodness! Grell ruined more relationships that way.

But there was one relationship Grell did not want to destroy. Well, several relationships, actually, but at the given moment his attention was focused entirely on the lad sitting beside him. The younger reaper did not scare easily, but…how could anyone _not_ be scared of a psychopath who not only butchered people but also reveled in their blood?!

Ronald knew the risks, but it was his desire to know the _reasons_ that maintained his bravery. He was not blind to Grell's dangerousness, and a situation such as Jack the Ripper's was inevitable. But why now? Grell had always been unstable. What had changed to finally push Grell over the edge? Ron assumed it had something to do with that Madam Red woman, but could a mere human really have enough influence upon a god? The woman's cinematic record was archived under classified evidence. There was no way for Ronald to know what kind of person she had been, although he assumed she must have been _something_ if Grell Sutcliff narrowly trashed his career for her sake.

"But like I said, senior," Ronald continued, dragging the words out of his mouth. It helped ease the pain when talking about difficult matters, but that did not mean the actual talking was easy. "Nobody understood your motives. They just assumed ya went crazy, but I know you're smarter than that. You obviously had your reasons for sidin' with that woman. Why?"

"Why, indeed," Grell whispered to himself, muffling his words behind the wineglass he once again brought to his lips.

He met Angelina two years ago when she first began killing prostitutes. Almost everyday since Grell asked himself why he gravitated towards her. He was not attracted to ladies, although he never complained on those nights spent beside Madam Red. Grell certainly chose one hell of a woman as his first (and last) venture into heterosexuality. But Grell soon realized that his attraction to An surpassed the sexual realm. A red, narcissistic string bound the Jack the Ripper pair. They were practically identical, regardless of one being a female mortal and the other being a male god. The colour of red passion and blood permeated from the depths of their souls. They were equally mad yet equally miserable, trapped in bodies that could never provide the one happiness they sought.

"_I want to have a baby of my very own, too, but it seems that my being male makes that a biiit difficult. You and I, we're like two peas in a pod~!"_

One way or another Grell and An were barren women. They punished whores who threw away their unborn babies. Jack that Ripper gratified themselves off a sick sense of justice and vengeance against a world that denied children from parents who truly wanted them. Those broads thought they endured agony in their final moments? Their pain was _miniscule_ compared to a heartbroken woman who lived her entire life longing for a baby she could never have. Grell and Madam Red were the ones who truly suffered.

Except now, Madam Red's suffering was over.

His second drink was gone before Grell realized he finished it. Sometimes he wished shinigami could become as quickly intoxicated as humans. Grell had many, many more drinks ahead of him before the pain would begin to numb. Why wait? He poured and sipped his third glass, ignoring the irony of him drinking more than partygoer Ron.

"If you want to know why I did those things, Ronald, you can ask Will," Grell answered without actually answering the boy's question. "He was present during my whole confession and trial. I already told the court everything and frankly I'm not in the mood to repeat myself."

"Mister Spears already sat me down last week," replied Ronald, noticing the minute surprise on Grell's face. "He didn't tell me anythin' classified, of course, but he did explain the situation. Mostly it was to inform me that I've got the option to change mentors and whatnot, but I refused."

Grell blinked, not expecting the rookie's decision. Ron actually wanted to continue working with Grell?! Maybe the wine jumbled Grell's brain sooner than he anticipated. "I took you for being smarter than that, Ronald."

"I think it would've been dumber for me to leave ya like this, senior."

"You wouldn't have been the first, sweetheart."

Ronald sighed at his friend's depressed tone of voice. His senior had every reason to be depressed, but depression was so alien to a character like Grell. The redhead was usually flamboyant and happy. Then again, the redhead was also a self-proclaimed actress. It made Ronald wonder how much of Grell's exuberance was an act, perhaps to conceal the scars that Jack the Ripper unveiled. There was obviously more to Grell's crimes than sheer lunacy.

"I know you love your job, Grell," started Ron, forcing himself to keep his eyes on his superior, even if Grell was more enraptured by his wineglass. If Ronald wanted to be taken seriously he had to play the part. "Hell, nobody loves bein' a grim reaper more than you. It's impossible to image a time when ya _didn't_ wield a death scythe. That's why I can't understand why you'd go along with that Jack the Ripper nonsense. Ya had to have known it woulda' jeopardized your career, senior. I know blood and red is a big deal to ya, but goin' so far as to kill people not yet on the to-die list is excessive even for _you_!"

It had to have been the liquor that prompted Grell to sharply bark back, "And what the hell does a rookie like you know about _me_, Ronald?" The boy immediately shut his mouth upon seeing Grell's eyes glare viciously behind his blood-coloured spectacles. Rarely did Grell assert his authoritative intimidation upon his underling, but right now Ron was pushing too many buttons for Grell to tolerate. "You're no different than anyone else in this bloody world; so quick to lecture, so quick to judge, so quick to assume you understand eeeverything about the situation!" With a dramatic wave of his hand Grell scoffed, "Please! I'm not the type of woman who's transparent and simple enough for ignorant clever-dicks to even _begin_ to fathom!"

That was the problem; Grell was not an easy person to understand. "But that's precisely why I'm here talkin' to ya, Miss Sutcliff!" Ronald pleaded honestly. "I wanna' understand what happened to ya durin' these past two years, what caused this whole Jack the Ripper fiasco. You're right; I don't understand, but I'm never _gonna'_ understand unless you talk to me."

Grell shrugged indifferently. "I talked plenty to the court, Ronald. And frankly, talk is cheap. It doesn't change anything. I'm a woman of action, in case you didn't notice."

"Yeah, well, 'action' is exactly what got ya into this mess, senior," bravely retorted Ronald, much to the redhead's chagrin at being corrected. "All those 'actions' across Whitechapel nearly cost your career."

Frankly, career was the least of Grell's troubles. For breaking the highest of shinigami law he nearly lost his life! Very, very few reapers broke the law and returned with both their jobs and careers intact, and "intact" was a generous word. Demotion, suspension, and humiliation—they were easy punishments compared to what would have befallen Grell had he not been an invaluable grim reaper.

And demotion, suspension, and humiliation were the least of Grell's ultimate punishment.

Fingers gripped glass as Grell's hand angrily squeezed around his wineglass. "Soo, you reeeally want to understand why I did those things, Ronnie?" His voice was a deep, disturbing mixture of challenge, rhetoric, and singsong, sending several chills down the blond-haired reaper's spine. "Well, dearie, it's rather simple, actually. We death gods are so woefully near-sighted that we can be quite _un_sighted at times. Such would explain the sheer ignorance of why nobody bothers to comprehend a woman's grief, while at the same time it explains how a reaper such as I easily bonded with a lowly human. Plain and simple, Ronald, gods are _blind_."

At first, Ronald thought Grell was making excuses for his actions. But the more he pondered his senior's words the more he felt enlightened, if partially. "Gods are blind," and Grell did not make himself an exception to that claim, either. He obviously blamed the ignorant masses for spurring his behaviour, while at the same time blaming himself for succumbing and following through with it.

"When I died and was reborn a reaper I foolishly assumed that high and mighty gods were more open-minded than humans," confessed Grell, not once sugarcoating his grave disappointment. Humans were born fools, after all, but who would have thought that so-called divine beings were no different? In spite of shinigami technology advancing generations ahead of humanity's, gods' mindsets were tragically archaic, especially regarding characters like Grell Sutcliff. "As a human I was a freak. As a reaper I am still a freak. Makes me wonder if third time will be the charm in the next life. Tch!"

Ronald remained quiet for a moment, letting his friend vent. What _could_ Ron say? His life had been nothing like Grell's. Not that Ronald's mortality had been picturesque—every shinigami was reborn from a human whose life had been wrought with pain and tragedy, Death's way of testing and "marking" prospective reapers for the afterlife. Shinigami rarely spoke of their human lives; it was nobody's business, and it was too unpleasant to talk about in the first place. He did not know the whole story behind Grell's past but the blond drew his conclusions. If human-Grell was even a tiny bit similar to his grim reaper incarnate it was no wonder why Grell felt bitter.

The younger shinigami's silence cued Grell to sip his wine again, swallowing slowly to let the alcohol's burn sear away some of his hurt. More painful than the bitterness of wine and hate was the pain of admitting his next words: "But to An, I wasn't a freak. To her, I was…"

Although he knew little about Madam Red Ronald was smart enough to assume whom Grell referenced. Little by little Ronald felt he understood the direction of his and Grell's conversation. They were making progress and Ron did not want to lose the momentum. Ever so delicately he nudged closer to Grell's side and placed a hand on the elder shinigami's tense shoulder. "And what _were_ you to her, senior?"

Grell snuck a peek at Ronald through the corner of his eye. The boy asked a simple question to which there was no simple answer. Grell and Madam Red's relationship had been a complicated sort of affair. It took more than one or two adjectives to describe Jack the Ripper, contrary to the colourful names coined by London's press. But what would never go down in history's archives was how intimately Grell Sutcliff and Angelina Durless meant to each other. As killers? As lovers? As sisters? The best illustration Grell could make was "two peas in a pod," vague enough to encompass the countless ways he and Madam Red saw one another.

But indeed, what _was_ Grell to Madam Red? Until now Grell always assumed An shared his sentiments, but then…then she chose that boy. She willingly threw away Jack the Ripper's legacy all because of a damned child! She willingly betrayed Grell.

"What was I to Madam Red?" Grell coldly shrugged, purposefully nudging Ronald's hand off his shoulder. "Apparently _nothing_. Apparently, I wasn't as precious to her as that bloody brat!"

Honestly, what made Ciel Phantomhive so special? So what if he was born wealthy? So what if he was earl and heir to England's largest toy and confection industry? So what if he was the Queen's watchdog?! Did those privileges (of which he _inherited_, never actually _worked_ to obtain) entitle Ciel to steal the hearts of anyone whom Grell was remotely interested in? Was it not enough to have the world's most incredible, handsome manservant Sebastian Michaelis wrapped around his finger?! Had Ciel even done anything to earn the love of his colleagues? For God's sake, he had the audacity to automatically suspect his own aunt of being Jack the Ripper! Did the boy even love Angelina?! Or was Madam Red that desperate of a woman to cling to a child who never gave a damn about her?

"You sound jealous, senior."

Already enraged by his memories of Angelina, Grell nearly exploded upon hearing Ronald. Ron did not specify so Grell was unsure if he was accused of envying An or Ciel. Perhaps both? Either way, Grell did not take his underling's allegation kindly. Serrated teeth bared, the redhead snarled warningly. "And what the hell do I have to be jealous of a lowly human for, Ronald?"

"It's got nothin' to do with bein' human, I think," deduced Ronald, speaking his mind amidst the limited information Grell provided.

"And who cares what you think?" Grell snapped, becoming increasingly annoyed by his junior's presence. Ron was usually so laid-back and casual; the only time he asked twenty questions was when he asked a girl out on a date. Grell was grateful to finally meet someone who put in the effort to understand him, but…tonight of all nights?! The redhead's detention cell barely had time to cool and already Grell was under fire. As though he had not been interrogated enough during the past month! "Instead of psychoanalyzing me, Ronnie, why don't you put that brainpower towards finding yourself a new mentor? I'll gladly write you a letter of recommendation."

Grell's offer was generous but Ronald saw through the act. He did not enjoy being continuously pushed away by his friend. How did Grell expect anyone to understand him if he kept everyone at arm's length? The red reaper certainly had no difficulties getting close to others physically. Grell could hardly keep his hands off guys like William and that demon butler whom Ron knew so much about via Grell's letters. But emotionally? For all of Grell's claims to be a woman, Miss Sutcliff was not the type of girl to publicize her softer side. From what Ronald heard, Grell murdered his accomplice just because Madam Red had let her emotions get the best of her.

"I already told ya, senior," Ronald answered. "I don't want another mentor." Deep down, he knew Grell did not want another understudy, either. The redhead and blond's chemistry was too precious to destroy. "I just want to help ya however I can, but I can't do that unless you let me. Else nothin's gonna change.

Their conversation was beginning to revolve in circles. Between the wine, late hour, and irritability, Grell's sociability plummeted into the single digits. Ronald's timing was atrocious. In a few days, weeks, whenever, Grell might be more willing to spill his guts, but now? Now was not the time. The fiery senior had reached the end of his already-short fuse.

"Look, it's sweet of you to offer, Ronnie," Grell exhaled a puff of alcohol-infused breath. He stopped motoring his consumption a while ago. If he been human the slender redhead might have already passed out, a blessing as far as Grell was concerned. Alas, he was far from drunk, not even slurring, and at best his face was a smidgen redder than before. With Ronald sitting at his side, asking innocent yet stinging questions, never before had Grell so desperately wanted to plaster himself into unconsciousness. Anything to make the pain go away. "But what's done is done. I'm a big girl and I accept my punishments. I don't need your help," because Ronald's "help" was rubbing salt in the wounds. "And really, what difference does it make?"

The junior chewed his bottom lip, feeling helpless in a hopeless battle. Dropping his gaze to his lap, Ronald replied sadly, "There's a difference between accepting punishments, and punishing yourself, Grell." He utterly hated seeing what became of his passionate, crazy senior. For Grell's personality to be turned inside-out proved that the redhead was not handling his pain as well as he claimed, or told himself. And it hurt Ronald more to realize his sister did not believe she could come to him with her problems. "And the difference it makes is cause' you're my…"

He paused for a split second, but it was a split second too long for Grell. Whether or not Ronald intended, his hesitation slingshot Grell back into the not-so-distant past, when another equally important person in the redhead's life paused for one unbearable second. Hesitation was a dangerous, deadly error whilst in Grell Sutcliff's presence, especially when he was seeing red.

"_This child is my…"_

"_Cause' you're my…"_

The last time somebody paused like that, Grell snapped.

"_This child is my…"_

"_No! No, damn you! NO! That brat is not yours! He's nothing! You have nothing, Madam! NOTHING!"_

_What was I to Madam Red?_

"_Cause' you're my…"_

_What am I to Ronnie?_

"_You have nothing! You _are_ nothing!"_

_But…I have Ronnie, and he…he really does want to help…_

"_Too late for that! What use are you if you're just another women?! I can't say I care one shred for this pitiful, emotional damsel you've become. How disappointing!"_

Grell snapped this time as well.

Ronald jumped in his seat when a wineglass shattered against the mantel directly across from Grell's sopha. His wide, shocked eyes stared pointlessly at the mess until he gulped and returned his attention to the shinigami beside him. Grell was already on his feet, his back to Ronald as he shuffled towards the parlour's exit. Before leaving outright, the redhead stopped and placed a hand on the threshold.

"Thank you for coming, Ronald," Grell spoke quietly, steadily, and almost eerily, still refusing eye contact. "You're a sweetheart, but it's just a bad night for me. If you're free on Saturday night I'd love to get together for another drink. Perhaps by then I'll be in a fairer mood."

Grell was pushing him away again. Ronald was starting to feel annoyed and frustrated, himself. If anyone deserved to throw a tantrum it was Ron, whose best intentions blew up in his face all because a certain redhead was so Goddamned stubborn! Why did Grell behave this way? What was so special about Madam Red that encouraged Grell to open himself to her? The aforementioned jealousy began to eat Ronald's conscience. He relished his relationship with Grell, but oh, what Ron would give to have the sacred bond that Grell and Angelina obviously shared.

Ronald was the person who envied Madam Red, not Grell. And if Grell did not envy An, then the person he had been jealous of must have been that "bloody brat" Grell mentioned earlier. But as for the brat's identity Ronald could only guess. Come to think of it, Ron recalled one of Grell's letters that claimed his Bassy happened to belong to a similarly-nicknamed "brat." What were the odds that those two brats happened to be the same child—

The realization slammed into Ronald as though Grell had chucked the wineglass at his underling's head. How daft must Ron be for not connecting the dots and realizing the truth sooner? Only one thing in the world could drive Grell Sutcliff to such extremes, more so than red, sex, or madness.

Gingerly, Ronald rose from his seat, stepping behind his superior's back. He wanted to place his hand back on Grell's shoulder but feared repercussions. Worse than his hand being shrugged or slapped away, Ronald feared his simplest touch might shatter whatever remained of his dear senior.

"I'm not gonna' force ya, Grell," Ron whispered as kindly as possible, hoping his message would ease into the self-deluded redhead. "I came here tonight to help, but it's not a one-time-only offer, okay? Whenever you're ready ya know where to find me. Just…please know that I'm worried about ya. I know you're hurt."

As painfully as Grell wanted to spin around and throw himself at Ronald the redhead felt pessimism override his common sense. Grell wanted to blame the alcohol but realized he was still very much sober and responsible for his actions. Still, he could hardly recognize, never mind believe, the words he shot Ronald. "You don't know me."

Nor could Grell believe the words Ronald shot right back. "I know you want a child." And the more Ronald thought about it, the more he was convinced that the entire Jack the Ripper incident was rooted in that abovementioned fact.

The thin ice Ronald treaded rapidly began to crack, just like Grell's sanity. The redhead swallowed hard, gripping the threshold until his knuckles turned white. A shinigami could crack the wood if he wanted to, and Grell never underestimated his abilities. He only fretted hurting Ronald in the process. A red, ticking time bomb was reaching its final seconds and Grell wanted the boy out of the danger zone immediately.

"So what?" Grell hissed maliciously at Ronald, at the situation, at Madam Red, at Ciel Phantomhive, but ultimately at himself. He could wish all he wanted, he could kill hundreds of whores, he could do whatever the hell he pleased, but Grell would never have a child to call his own. "It's…it's time I stopped fooling myself."

Ronald could not agree more. That was why he buried his forehead into Grell's shoulder and wrapped his arms around the older reaper's startled frame. Under the circumstances, Ron was mindful to keep his arms and hands high enough away from the redhead's sensitive, womb-less abdomen. He could feel Grell's body stiffen by the unexpected affection, amusing since the redhead was no stranger to physical contact. But again, Grell was ordinarily the initiator, not the receiver. Maybe it was time to change that.

"Take your own advice, Miss Sutcliff; stop foolin' yourself. You've got me." A tender smile pulled the corners of the boy's lips. "You've looked after me as well as any big sister, or mum, ever could. Course', I know I'm not yours, and I'm not a little kid, either, but…" Ronald paused only for a moment to find the words in his heart. "You mean the world to me, Grell. I just hope it's enough."

And just like that, Ronald proved Madam Red was not the only half of Jack the Ripper who had a child to love and call her own. Shakily, Grell's hand left the threshold, lowering to meet and hold one of Ron's hands against his chest. His heart throbbed for more reasons than Grell could count, but no longer did it feel ready to break at a moment's notice. Just the opposite; the heart felt revitalized by the unexpected and unconditional sentiments Ronald provided. Soon after, his refilled heart quietly overflowed down Grell's cheeks.

Lovingly squeezing her child's hand, Grell smiled and choked, "It is, Ronnie."

**The End**

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**A/N**: Thank you very much for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts on this story via review.

With the end of the year approaching, I wish everyone happy holidays! :)


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